


This is un-bean-lievable!

by JoyHeart, redrichards



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Faerun, Gen, Nonbinary Sparrow Oak, Willy is a big slut for Bass Pro Shop, the kids are all teenagers btw 16/17, they/them only babes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyHeart/pseuds/JoyHeart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrichards/pseuds/redrichards
Summary: The local Bass Pro Shop is having a big sale soon. So big, in fact, that one Willy Stampler- a disgustingGrinchof a man- has decided to camp out at the nearby Starbucks, much to the annoyance of the baristas.--The starter for an abandoned fan fic telephone. I really liked what I wrote, so I decided to post it!EDIT: @JoyHeartwrote a chapter two!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Son-Centric Fanfics, Twin-Centric Fanfics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the starter I wrote for an abandoned game of fan fic telephone in our little dndads discord. There was a hangup passing the fic along, so it never got continued. I decided to post my portion anyways because I thought it was pretty cute. Sorry it's so short!
> 
> The original prompt was:  
> 
>
>> Characters: Willy Stampler, Lark Oak  
> Location: Their "home."  
> Dialogue prompt: "I quit!"
> 
> EDIT: Chapter 1 written by @[redrichards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrichards)

While winters didn’t get cold enough in San Dimas for snow, there were still days that warranted a coat, mittens, and a hot cup of coffee. At the Starbucks in the San Dimas mall, you could find all three- although the first two weren’t for sale.

The wind outside was bitter and brisk. The front door to the café had been thrown open by a few particularly violent gusts several times while the various patrons on their way out tried desperately to regain hold of the handle, shouting apologies barely audible over the din of ambient conversations and jazz that filled the shop. All but two of the seats inside were occupied, the two in question were recently abandoned by a mother and her five-year-old standing up to head to the bathroom, leaving a coat draped over the backs to signify they were claimed. This hint, however, was ignored by a stooped older man, who flippantly brushed the jacket off the seats and proceeded to settle down in one and set a large backpack in the other.

“Comrade, might I sincerely state:  _ Fuck _ Bass Pro Shop,” Lark stated emphatically, narrowing his eyes at the patron, who was oblivious to the comment from the barista behind the counter.

Beside him, Nick brushed some loose strands of red dyed hair out of his eyes and nodded in agreement. “This is bullshit. The dude has been here for almost twelve hours waiting for that stupid sale to start so he can be the first in line!” He tossed his hands in the air in exasperation.

“He’s camped out here like this is his house. This store is  _ our _ house! These entitled customers can’t just move in and take up our space.” Lark folded his arms across his chest.

Beside them, Grant tapped a steel pitcher of milk on the counter. The larger bubbles on the surface settled into the milk, leaving behind a texture akin to wet paint. He lifted the pitcher into the air and tilted it until a thin stream poured from the spout into a paper cup already half full of freshly brewed Earl Grey tea. He snapped a plastic lid onto the cup and slid it onto the handoff plane.

“Officer Foster, your London Fog!”

A tall, uniformed policeman stood from the couches in the café. One of the many customers standing nearby quickly claimed his seat. “Thanks, boys!” He greeted as he picked up his latte and headed out the door.

Grant picked up the pitcher and ran it under the sink to remove any residue. From behind him, Nick let out a mocking croon.

“Oh, Officer Foster! Your tea- it’s too hot for my delicate gay little hands. Please, take it from me!” Nick delicately placed the back of a hand against his forehead and pretended to swoon.

Grant whipped around to face him, snarling at Nick and Lark who burst into laughs, “I’m  _ not _ like that.”

“Whatever, bootlicker,” Nick rolled his eyes.

“I swear the first time I saw him he wasn’t wearing his uniform. I didn’t know! Can’t I just say a guy’s cute?” Grant slammed the pitcher down on the drying rack, his cheeks flushed red.

“You’re a narc just like your dad,” Nick dismissively waved a hand, but Grant was puffing up defensively.

“Hey! He’s been trying a lot more recently! He came with me to the last BLM protest! He’s getting better.”

From behind Nick and Lark, the door to the back office/storage room opened, and Terry Jr. appeared, looking down at the small handheld device used to track their perishable inventory. His eyes didn’t sway from their focus as he quipped, “At least one of our dads is improving.”

Lark glanced up from a cup overflowing with green foam- an almond milk green tea latte steamed like a cappuccino. “I thought that your step-father, Ronald, was doing much better as of late?”

TJ looked up from the device. “Lark- no drinking partner beverages on the floor,” he pointed to the cup in Lark’s hands, “and Ron- he’s… Well, he’s doing better. It’s  _ his _ dad that’s fucking things up.” He turned to glare pointedly at the older man who was sneering at the mother whose seat he had stolen as she picked up her jacket off the floor.

Nick’s jaw dropped, “ _ that’s _ your granddad?” He stabbed a finger in the direction of the man.

“STEP-granddad,” Terry corrected, cringing at the thought of blood relation, “and yes.” He sighed, “he’s been hanging around the house a lot recently. Now, he’s at my work. I can’t escape him.”

The mother gave Terry’s granddad a reproachful look as she ushered her daughter away, hoping to find another seat. The man seemed to relish in her disgust, grinning as he pulled his newspaper open.

Beside them, a small head of wild curls adorned with an assortment of brightly colored clips peeked over the edge of the counter.

“What’s the matter, dear sibling?” Sparrow chimed in, breaking the group of barista’s focused gaze of hatred at the man.

“Oh, hey, Sparrow,” Grant waved.

“Good morrow, my companion!” Sparrow waved at Grant, handing him a plastic re-useable cup covered in stickers before turning back to Lark. “You sound stressed, dear brother. Have you been trying those breathing exercises I told you about?”

Lark sighed and rolled his eyes. “No manner of ‘breathing exercises’ will grant me the patience to accommodate this twat.” He motioned at the man who had opened his newspaper wide enough so his elbows were in the faces of his neighbors.

“Well, I for one,” Sparrow placed a hand daintily on their chest, “take pride in my work! May-haps a more positive outlook could enrich your experience, dear brother?”

Lark’s face twisted in disgust, “Is piercing the ears of pre-teens truly that enlightening?”

Beside him, Nick chimed in, “Dude, you work at Claire’s.”

“And I enjoy it!” Sparrow sang, lifting themself up on their tippy toes momentarily.

“Here’s your regular, Sparrow,” Grant slid a tall cup of a luminescent pink beverage across the counter to Sparrow, who scooped it into their hands immediately.

“Many thanks.”

Lark eyed Sparrow as they popped off the lid of their drink and used the end of the straw to fish out the strawberry pieces that had settled on top of the ice. “Your job must be pretty demanding if you’re coming over here for free pink drinks all the time.”

Sparrow shrugged, “Regardless! Have you tried being more positive? Maybe he only requires a friendly face.”

“He needs a fist to the face,” Nick muttered.  



	2. Helloooooo Mister Stampler!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by @[JoyHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyHeart)

**Chapter 2: Helloooooo Mister Stampler!**

Pink drink clutched firmly in hand, Sparrow Oak-Garcia immediately waltzed their way directly toward Willy Stampler’s table, and Lark immediately waltzed his hand directly in front of his eyes.

“Friend Grant! Be my eyes, I cannot watch my sibling doing something stupid this early in the day when I am trapped behind this counter unable to assist them!”

“Sparrow can handle themself; I’ve seen that kid dodge six guys trying to beat him up at once and then knock one out with one hit to a pressure point,” Nick sighed as he grabbed a damp rag to drag over the counters so it would at least sort of look like he was working.

“But yeah, keep an eye on them, Grant. I need to go into the back to count inventory, so if Sparrow starts a fight with Willy make sure you call me back out here. That is something I _desperately_ want to see.”

With a long suffering sigh, Grant watched from across the dining room to see Sparrow scurry up next to Terry’s step-grandpa with his pink drink in hand while Terry disappeared into the back. For a brief moment Grant thought he would have to try to read their lips, but he had entirely forgotten that Sparrow’s speaking voice when addressing a stranger was about the decibel level of a supersonic jet.

_“GOOD MORROW MISTER STAMPLER! WE HAVE NEVER MET, BUT I AM FRIENDS WITH YOUR DEARLY BELOVED STEP-GRANDSON TERRY JUNIOR! I AM SPARROW, PRONOUNS THEY/THEM!”_

Willy Stampler looked up with a startled expression that quickly soured into something one might see on a grumpy-faced cat with a bad smell under its nose. **“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU, BRAT? I’M OLD, NOT DEAF!”**

“What is happening? Tell me, friend Grant. Your descriptions are always so enlightening!”

“Lark, shut up and take your hand off your face. There’s customers coming in- and now they’re leaving. Well, looks like these two are driving away business.”

“Huh, maybe it’s worth having the old bastard around after all,” Nick chuckled as he glanced at the clock. “I’m taking a smoke break.”

_“MY APOLOGIES GOOD SIR! I WAS WONDERING IF THIS SEAT WAS TAKEN PERHAPS? IF NOT I WOULD LOVE TO SIT WITH YOU FOR A WHILE, LISTEN TO YOUR TALES OF THE GOOD OLD DAYS MAYHAPS MAYHAPS?”_

Grant turned his head so fast his neck cricked. “Like hell! You just had a smoke twenty minutes ago!”

“ **GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, KID! I’M NOT BUYING ANYTHING YOU’RE SELLING!** ”

“Yeah, but we probably won’t get any customers while they’re yelling anyway, so it’s not like you need me here.”

_“OH, LOOKS LIKE YOU HAVE A BACKPACK ON THE ONLY AVAILABLE OTHER SEAT! LET ME JUST MOVE THAT FOR YOU, SIR, AND I AM SURE OUR ENSUING CONVERSATION WILL BE BOTH ENLIGHTENING AND LEGENDARY!”_

**“DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF, HEY!”**

“I’ll need you to pull that guy off Sparrow when he starts strangling him to death. Guy looks like he could bench press a house even in his seventies, goddamn.”

“Go, friend Nick! If there is trouble regarding mine sibling, I shall handle it post-haste!”

“Lol, thanks, Lark. Have fun being blind.”

“Thank you, I will!”

“Hey! Terry left me in charge! … and he’s gone. I fucking hate it here.” Grant looked back across the store to see Sparrow had put Willy’s bag on the table and was sitting across from him happily chattering about something at a much lower volume while Willy clenched his coffee cup hard enough to crumble it in his grip. Luckily, it seemed to have been mostly empty as only a small puddle had formed on the table beneath it. “Lark, can you _please_ tell Sparrow to knock it off before we have to mop up blood from the floor again? The other customers are staring, too.”

“Fine, I shall. Be my eyes, Grant!”

“No, Lark, just look where you’re- ouch, are you okay?”

Lark, who had misjudged where the gap in the counter was, had walked directly into the espresso machine and bashed his face off of it because he couldn’t be bothered to grow as tall as Grant and Terry were. Luckily, however, his face was still hidden behind his hand, so it was only his fingers that were bleeding.

“It is fine, friend Grant, pain is nothing!” And with that he continued to stumble blindly into the dining room as customers dodged around him and started leaving the store rather quickly.

“To your left!” Grant called. “No- your other left, dumbass! TABLE!” Luckily it was a recently vacated table. Grant glanced back toward the door and found a young lady standing at the counter staring at him. “Uh oh. You’re on your own, Lark. There’s a customer!”

“Don’t worry friend Grant! I’ve got it from here!” Lark called back as he continued to blindly feel around the store in the direction he remembered Willy Stampler to have been seated in. Sure, he could probably uncover his eyes at this point and from a certain perspective that may even be considered the sensible thing to do. But Lark Oak-Garcia did not run on sensibility. He ran on sugar and stubbornness and the need to prove he could beat up an old man while blindfolded, and so he continued blindly onward, knocking garbage off tables as Grant frantically tried to make six drinks at once because all of his coworkers had ditched him.

“I need a new job,” Grant whispered to himself as tears streamed silently down his cheeks, “And better friends, goddamn.”

Meanwhile, Lark had finally reached the correct table. He knew this when he reached blinding out with his bloodied hand and immediately slapped a wrinkly bald head.

“AH HA!” Lark cried in triumph.

**“WHAT THE BLOODY SHITTING FUCK?!”**

“Brother, hello! Would you care to join Mr. Stampler and I? I was just telling him how absolutely lovely he would look in our new line of Panda earrings, and we have clip-on versions too if you aren’t comfortable going for a full ear piecing at this time! Oh, I forgot, I brought a pair for you, Lark! See?”

At his sibling’s request, Lark opened his eyes to see Willy Stampler with a bloody handprint on his glaring red face and then Sparrow happily holding out a pair of very cute clip-on earring shaped like panda faces with little bows on their ears.

“Sibling Sparrow?”

“Brother Lark?”

“These may be the greatest earrings I have ever known.”

**“FUCK THE SALE’S STARTING!”** Willy Stampler roared like a majestic elk and nearly flipped the table as he clawed his way out of his seat. “You little twerpy fruit loop boys get out of my way!”

“Ooh, actually I am not a boy!” Sparrow chirruped happily. “And I use they/them pronouns as I said when I introduced myself! But I forgive you for forgetting!”

“They/them is plural!” Willy sneered. “Goddamn special snowflake! I’m going to buy a gun and some cornchips, later nerds.” And with that he left the coffee shop. At this point there was a small line at the counter and no one in any of the very dirty tables.

“Hm,” Sparrow’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Mayhaps a more physical approach is needed with this one after all, dear brother.”

Lark’s eyes lit up and sparkled. “Mayhaps we ought to follow him to this sale mayhaps?”

“Mayhaps yes, brother.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! LARK, I NEED HELP BACK HERE!” Grant yelled at the other employee.

“Don’t worry friend Grant! I will let Nick know to come back when I pass the dumpsters!”

With that, Lark ran out the front door with Sparrow, just as Terry walked back into the room with a clipboard in hand. The floor was covered in garbage and spilled remnants of coffees. All the full tables were empty. There was a line at the register and Grant was openly sobbing as he poured ten lattes at once.

“Hey, Grant?” Terry asked as he rolled up his sleeves and got to drink mixing.

“Y-yeah, T-Terry?”

“We need better friends.”


End file.
